


Burn

by Crockzilla



Series: Domesti-Kink with Spideypool [33]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Desperation, Dom/sub, Figging, Following Directions, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-03-30 22:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13961826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/pseuds/Crockzilla
Summary: Peter owes Wade for a few things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Persephoniac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephoniac/gifts), [2SidedAuthor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/2SidedAuthor/gifts).



> The exciting first half of Persephoniac's long-awaited Epic Figging Fic

Wade bustled around the living room for the eighth time in twenty minutes. He had washed every dish in the sink by hand. He had cleaned the stove. He had cleaned the oven. He had made a new sourdough starter and tucked it safely into the fridge. He bustled some more.

 

Peter was curled up on top of the comforter in bed, all snug in his sleeping-sweater, reading something nerdy on his phone. He glanced up and laughed a cute little chuckle every time Wade bustled past him.

 

Wade could stand it no longer. “Any helpful hints? Things you’d like me to do to prepare?”

 

“No,” Peter told him with an amused smile.

 

Wade sighed. He continued bustling.

 

They hadn’t had a Game Day in forever. Usually when Peter was topping him in any planned activity he spent the night before getting ready, forcing Wade to stay in the bedroom or the bathroom or with his hands over his eyes for hours before bedtime. Yes it was late and they had just finished crime-fighting an hour earlier, but Peter’s laid-back attitude still seemed...unnatural.

 

Either Peter was being lazy and tomorrow’s Game Day was going to be terribly uncreative, or he had something devilishly ingenious planned and was deliberately getting Wade antsy. The first possibility wasn’t even a real possibility, Wade knew -- Peter Parker had never been lazy a goddamn day in his life, especially not about kinky matters. So that meant devilish, ingenious, and deliberate.

 

Wade bustled some more. He fretted as he bustled. Peter finally had to pick him up and physically put him in bed, and then made it worth his while to stay there.

 

Peter had to teach the whole next day. When Wade woke up, he expected to hear his sweet Spidey in the shower, singing eighties pop (usually a Tears for Fears selection on kinky days, he’d noticed). However, the apartment was quiet, and he saw Peter’s towel hanging in its I’m So Wet place on the bathroom door.

 

Peter was gone already. Wade faintly recalled feeling a kiss on his cheek while he’d still been mostly asleep, his little love saying something nice to him, remembered humming back happily but not waking up.

 

He felt a lonely pit of loneliness in his tummy as he wandered into their empty living room, but only until he saw the big pink envelope that lay in the middle of their coffee table. Squeeing, he leapt onto the couch, snatching up the envelope that bore his name in his sweetheart’s adorably terrible handwriting.

 

Valentine’s Day was stupid, they had both agreed, but it looked like Peter hadn’t been able to resist picking up a frilly pink and red card for him. When he opened it, a shiny red heart on a spring popped up, making him giggle. He read the handwritten message inside:

 

_Welcome to Game Day, Hot Stuff! Open the fridge to find your breakfast and also your first big surprise. I love you._

 

Wade took a moment to mew and cuddle with the card. He then took it to their bedroom and laid it neatly on the nightstand (because on Game Days neatness got him extra points) and proceeded to the kitchen to find his goodies.

 

In the fridge he found a big piece of crumb coffee cake from his favorite bakery wrapped and waiting for him. It was only then that he noticed the aroma of strong, yummy coffee and turned to see that his Spidey had bought a bag of his favorite blend and made him an entire pot. His heart flooded with the special happiness that Game Day brought, the feeling of being loved and cared for and treated like a goddamn princess. It was wonderful.

 

 _Also eat at least six berries of your choice_ read the post-it note that Peter had stuck to the coffee cake. Wade saw raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries in their boxes at the front of the fridge -- Peter had clearly taken his advice about not eating strawberries this soon before spring because yuck. He noticed his beloved had also tended the sourdough starter -- what a cutie.

 

But where was his first big surprise? It was then that Wade noticed a big sticky note with an arrow drawn on it stuck to their crisper drawer. He opened the drawer to find possibly the last thing he’d been expecting.

 

The ginger that this finger had come from must have been huge. It was at least six inches long and not thin, not thin at all. He would call it thick, as a matter of fact. Girth-ful. The thing had girth. He looked at how carefully it was carved, all of the skin removed without taking off hardly any of the flesh. He picked it up and looked at the deep, precise notch that Peter had cut into the top of it. His insides did back-flips.

 

And then, Wade flashed back to an argument (a “discussion”) that he and Peter had had a couple of weeks previously. About ginger. You see, Peter had really really enjoyed his Boxing Day Figging, as they now referred to it. Wade was lamenting that he could not partake of the carnal pleasures of ginger root because of his hella awesome healing factor. Peter had challenged him, spouting some sciency mumbo-jumbo, suggesting that his healing factor might somehow make the effects of ginger even more intense.

 

Especially, Peter had hypothesized, the whole genital-stimulating effect.

 

Wade had explained to him that that was not how his healing factor worked. Peter had insisted he was wrong, and he’d gotten down-right mouthy. Wade had been forced to wash his mouth out with soap and then make him kneel between Wade’s knees and hold Wade’s cock in his naughty mouthy mouth while they watched two episodes of Murder She Wrote. For his own good, of course.

 

And now here was this big-ass ginger plug waiting in his fridge all innocently. Wade laughed with affection for his stubborn little Spidey-pants. There was no way this would sting or make him horny for more than, like, thirty seconds, but it would still be a lovely dildo.

 

As if Peter could sense his doubts, Wade’s phone dibbled.

 

_Did you find your surprise?_

 

 _Yes sir_ , Wade wrote back, keeping his skepticism to himself for the moment.

 

_Good take at least fifteen minutes to eat breakfast drink as much coffee as you want then take a shower and lay on the bed with the ginger and wait for more instructions._

 

Wade shivered all up and down as he followed his orders. He loved all flavors of Peter, but Dom!Peter did simply unspeakable things to him.

 

He ate his breakfast and had his coffee, forcing himself to savor instead of shove the whole piece of cake into his mouth at once (because goddamn it was so goddamn good seriously). He carefully documented his progress in photos that he sent to Peter, who replied promptly.

 

_My good boy_

Shiver, shiver, shiver.

 

He showered, careful not to over stimulate his grown-up bits (he was already ridiculously turned on, and it wouldn’t take more than a minute or so of careless self-fondling to ruin Game Day) and then dried himself off thoroughly before laying out on their bed, the girthful ginger dildo sitting next to him on a folded paper towel. He wondered if Peter would have him insert it right away. Probably. He wondered how many times his beloved would have him bring himself to the edge without coming. He hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed that the stinging didn’t happen.

 

To his surprise, Peter called him seconds after he texted that he was laying naked on the bed next to a large rhizome.

 

“Put me on speaker phone and lay me where you can hear me,” Peter’s voice instructed him.

 

“Where are you?” Wade had to ask. “Your office?”

 

“Ha!” Peter snorted, adorably. “Adjuncts do not get offices. Full-time faculty barely get offices. I am in the supply closet of the lab where I am teaching twenty-five people in like thirty minutes, so hush and do what I say.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Wade said, giggling slightly at the thought of Peter surrounded by shelves of beakers and being all dominant.

 

“Pick up the ginger.”

 

Wade did, thumbing the firm, slightly wet skin, the sharp smell tingling in his nose.

 

“Rub it on both of your nipples,” Peter’s voice instructed, “but be very careful not to rub it on any broken skin.”

 

Aw, Spidey. Yes, ginger juice in one of the many open wounds he was constantly covered in would hurt like a motherfucker, but only for the ten seconds or so that it took for his healing factor to kill it. But that wasn’t the point, Wade knew – Game Day was for letting Peter take care of him.

 

He rubbed the ginger over his nips, which were thankfully free of wounds today, and he did feel a delicious tingle in the sensitive skin. It was rather – yummy.

 

“Feel good?” Peter’s voice asked, and Wade realized he must have made a yummy sound.

 

“Ooh, yes sir,” Wade decided to play it up, knowing the tingling wouldn’t last nearly as long as his sweet Spidey was hoping it would. “What next?”

 

Peter had him rub the ginger all over his cock and balls, reminding him again to avoid any broken skin. Wade did so, a bit more quickly than Peter intended, probably, but he wanted to maximize the tingling effect for as long as possible so his little love wouldn’t be too disappointed.

 

“Now turn over.”

 

Wade’s vision blurred as he moved to obey. The mattress pressed torturously against his cock, which was definitely enjoying the effects of the ginger more than Wade had thought possible. He was diamond-cutting hard, and the ginger wasn’t even in him yet.

 

“Take your first two fingers of your left hand,” Peter instructed, calmly, “and hold your ass cheeks apart for me. And stay like that.”

 

Wade did as he was told, moving slowly but steadily, concentrating on breathing in an out as he lay on the bed, asshole exposed to the air. He imagined Peter standing over him, watching him and not touching him.

 

“Don’t pass out, baby,” Peter said, a hint of laughter in his voice, and Wade realized his panting was probably quite audible. “Now, pick the ginger up in your right hand, press it to the base of your spine, and slide it down to the back of your balls.”

 

Wade did as he was told, and hot as all of this was, the cold ginger helped him to not pass out from arousal. He tried to imagine the wetness was Peter’s tongue touching his Personal Person, but it didn’t work – Peter’s tongue was warm and impressively agile. The ginger was just kind of, well, a big piece of ginger.

 

Nevertheless, the tingling feeling started almost immediately and he felt – ooh. Ooh. All kinds of yummy. To his surprise, he could still feel it on his nipples and all over his crotch, and now all of his erogenous zones felt minty-fresh. Wade wiggled and squirmed a little.

 

“Hold still,” Peter said, fondly (and holy shit, how did he know?). “I know you’re still holding your ass open because I didn’t tell you to stop, right?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Wade replied, the thought of Peter saying such things to him in a semi-public space making his head spin a bit.

 

“Good. Now, very slowly, push the ginger into yourself until that cute little asshole fits around the notch in the top.”

 

Jesus Marie McDirtytalk, Wade would never ever ever get over sweet, good, innocent Peter Parker saying filthy things to him. He swallowed as he pressed the tip of the ginger to his hole, slowly as instructed, and pressed it through the ring of muscle. It was girthful enough that he hissed a bit as it stretched him open before tapering back down, and he felt delicious relief as his ass closed snugly around the perfectly-carved notch.

 

“Stuck the landing,” he said breathily, mind racing to anticipate what Peter would have him do now, how many times he’d have Wade bring himself to the edge. Would he have him fuck himself with the ginger as he stroked his own cock, or would he separate the activities? Or a combo, perhaps?

 

“Good boy,” Peter purred. “Clench your ass for me, three times.”

 

Ooh! Wade clenched his asshole around the ginger, three deliberate times, and it did – wow, yes, it did sting. Quite a bit. How exciting! Maybe this would last a little longer than he’d anticipated, especially considering that his tits, dick, and ass crack were all still tingling merrily from the ginger-rub-down.

 

In fact, was the tingling getting more intense? Possibly, or maybe it was the sting he was now feeling in his ass from clenching down on the plug. Would Peter have him spank himself? He wasn’t too sure about that idea, but what with his all-over tingle (that was edging on burning, if he was perfectly honest) he was up for anything.

 

“Does it burn, baby?”

 

“You know, it does!” Wade replied, happily, wiggling his stingy ass a little. “What next, O Game Master?”

 

“Next,” Peter said, and Wade could hear a devious grin in his voice, “I want you to put on your Deadpool suit and go on patrol. Be home at 2pm on the dot.”

 

Wade looked at the clock on the night stand. It was 10am.

 

What the actual fuck.

 

“Don’t forget to feed the sourdough before you leave. I love you.”

 

The screen of his phone blinked as Peter hung up. Wade may have hurled it across the room.

 

*~*~*

 

Wade never got mad at Peter. If he did, it was usually because Peter had done something stupidly dangerous or dangerously stupid, and that was pretty rare because Peter didn’t like Wade being mad at him. Wade hated being mad at Peter. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

 

But he was really fucking mad at Peter.

 

Of all the ridiculous bullshit, he thought, kicking at a mailbox as he sulked down the street, following their usual patrol route. Peter was so fucking sure he was right, so sure that the ginger would have some giantly abnormally effect on Wade that he was going to make him patrol all afternoon, wasting an entire Game Day. Goddamn it. He was supposed to feel like a slutty slutty princess today. This was not what Wade had been looking forward to, jacking around the city, alone, with a ginger plug up his ass and zero erotic tingles happening.

 

Because the tingling was going to stop any moment now. He was sure of it.

 

So it had intensified into a distinct burning sensation, not just in his ass but all over his Grown Up bits and his nip-nips. That probably meant it was cresting. Seconds from now, his healing factor would neutralize the ginger juice and he’d be left with a wet, impotent vegetable sticking out of his ass.

 

Any second now. The burning was definitely getting worse, so, yes – cresting. For sure.

 

His phone dibbled, and he pulled it from his fanny-pack (which he’d taken to wearing because it was so very convenient and also to embarrass Spidey) to see that Peter was calling him. He answered.

 

“How are you, babe?”

 

“Fine,” Wade said shortly, not daring to actually let loose his anger because it was still Game Day and he still had hope that this was a bluff.

 

“How’s your ginger?” Peter asked, cheerfully. “You nice and toasty?”

 

“Kind of,” Wade lied. It wasn’t a total lie – the burning was now downright uncomfortable, which mean it had nearly spent itself and would stop very very soon.

 

“Really?” Peter asked, but there was no trace of disappointment in his voice, Wade noticed.

 

“Really,” Wade said. “Healing factor, you know – bound to not last long.”

 

“Is that so?” Peter said, and not only did he not sound disappointed – he sounded smug. Very smug. “Well, at least you won’t be super uncomfortable as you protect our fair city.”

 

“Mmpf,” Wade responded, pulling his Deadpool suit away from his crotch because that’s probably what was causing the stinging. Chafing and what not.

 

“Maybe you’ll find a nice apartment fire,” Peter said, attempting to sound innocent but just sounding like a smuggy smug-face. “And you can rescue some folks. From the heat.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

“ ‘cause of the burning.”

 

Peter Parker was a very bad man, and Wade was going to get him back for this shit. Ridiculous. And the overwhelming horniness he was feeling in spite of his anger was just a product of being cock-teased all morning only to be sent into the streets. Wade ducked behind a large-ish planter to adjust his suit around his increasingly problematic boner.

 

“Spider-man?”

 

Holy titsing damnit. Wade straightened and turned to see a little kid with an ice-cream cone looking up at him. He made sure his front was well-hidden behind the planter.

 

“That’s me, your friendly neighborhood Spider-man,” he said, trying for heroic. “What can I do for you, citizen?”

 

“Are you hiding?” the little kid asked, licking their ice-cream. Their cold, soothing ice-cream.

 

“Why, no,” Deadpool replied, hands on his hips in what he hoped was a majestic stance. “Just – watching out for bad guys. Spider-man stuff.”

 

“Is that tree helping you?” the kid asked, oblivious to the drip of cool, creamy liquid that ran down the side of their cone.

 

Wade would not take the kid’s ice-cream and shove it down his pants. He would not. Besides, the burning was going to stop. Any moment now. The burning, the overwhelming horniness – all of it would stop. He would be fine.

 

“Spidey, do you need some ice-cream?” the kid asked, holding the cone out to him with a pitying look.

 

Wade was very impressed with himself for telling the kid no thank you and sending them on their way without bursting into tears.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Spider-man!”

 

Holy motherfucking banana hammocks their costumes were not that similar. Wade turned around to inform this new citizen of this fact only to find Clint jogging down the street towards him, waving with one hand and holding what looked like a smoothie in the other.

 

“Just kidding,” he said as he reached Wade, “I know it’s you, Daredevil.”

 

“You’re so goddamn funny,” Wade growled, causing Clint to recoil ever so slightly.

 

“What’s going on here?” Clint asked, gesturing at the potted plant that Wade had borrowed from the farm stand at the corner and was currently holding in front of his crotch.

 

“It’s my fern,” he replied, grimacing as the plant’s fronds grazed the front of his suit and seemed to make the burn worse. “Why are you on this side of town? Did we have a brunch date I forgot about?”

 

“No no,” Clint said, holding out a sleek little music-listening-to device and a set of headphones. “I’m running an Avengers errand -- an Avengerrand, if you will – and Peter asked me to bring you this. He made you a playlist.”

 

Wade took the device from Clint’s hands, holding his boner-covering-fern carefully between his thighs. “How did he know where I’d be?”

 

Clint shrugged. “Science? He also asked me to bring you this,” Clint handed him the smoothie, which looked like it leaned heavily in the carrot and mango direction, “and to make sure you’re actually okay. What did he do to you, buddy?”

 

Clint leaned close, putting a comforting hand on Wade’s shoulder. Peter had sent Clint to him, Clint who was one of a handful of people in the world who Wade felt no pressure to impress. Peter was tracking his whereabouts using science. Peter had made him a playlist. Peter had told Clint to bring him his favorite smoothie and to make sure that he was okay.

 

Wade bit his lower lip and was very glad for his mask. It occurred to him that he could tell Clint no, he was not okay, and Clint would help him get home and Peter would probably meet them there and Peter would give him a bath and make the awful burning go away and probably also do something really, really nice to this boner he’d had for hours now.

 

“I’m so good,” Wade said in a slightly cracked voice. “Just gonna keep patrolling with my smoothie and listen to my Spidey-mix.”

 

“All right, pal,” Clint said, clapping him supportively on the shoulder. Somehow, the slight jarring made Wade’s tits burn even more than they already were. Goddamnit. “Game night soon? Just the three of us?”

 

Wade waved at Clint as he sprung up the side of a building, frightening a small crowd of tourists who sounded vaguely German. Game Night lay in the future, but first Wade had to survive Game Day. At the moment, with his tits and fern-covered crotch feeling like they’d been doused in ghost pepper juice and his ass feeling like a family of fire-ants had moved in, it was hard to imagine a future.

 

He was also horny. Hornier than he could ever remember being in his life. Hornier than he’d ever thought possible.

 

Still holding the Crotch Fern between his legs, Wade put the earphones in and pressed play. This felt more familiar, more like a special Game Day surprise that Peter had planned for him. It made him feel marginally more princess-like, albeit a very aroused princess whose grown up bits were all on fire. He sipped his smoothie, and the cool, sweet deliciousness made him feel immensely better.

 

And then the playlist began, and any princess-ness Wade felt turned into white hot rage.

 

Peter’s romantic little playlist included songs from all eras and genres, songs like “Burn” by Deep Purple, “Light My Fire” by the Doors, “I’m Burning for You” by Blue Oyster Cult, and, one of Wade’s actual favorite songs that was now completely ruined for him, “Eternal Flame” by The Bangles.

 

Very funny, Doctor Parker. Very. Fucking. Funny. Wade imagined Peter sitting behind a comically over-sized desk, laughing maniacally. He imagined pulling him up,

bending him over the giant desk, and beating that fine ass until it burned even more than Wade’s did at this moment, then fucking the ginger juice covering his poor dick into Peter’s ass so that it burned inside and out. Mmm, yes.

 

Turned out the momentary satisfaction that little fantasy gave him was not worth how it affected his libido, which was already at Zero Dark Thirty. He desperately needed to fuck and be fucked. He looked down at the fern. It was kind of erotic how the fronds gently wafted in the wind. Perhaps if he closed his eyes and pretended the fern was Peter’s face it would provide him some relief.

 

But, no. He wanted the real deal. Not that plant-fucking couldn’t be the real deal, if that’s what one was into, but it was not what he needed and he knew it. He needed Peter. He needed his goddamn boyfriend, his Dom, who was on the other side of Queens teaching stupid goddamn chemistry instead of taking care of him like he was supposed to be.

 

“Deadpool?”

 

Wade straightened from where he’d been hunched in an alley, seriously considering fucking a fern, and turned to see a cute delivery person smiling at him from the street.

 

“Here’s your lunch,” said the cute person, holding out a paper bag with his name written on it.

 

“My…lunch?” Wade asked, emerging cautiously from the alley.

 

“Yeah,” the cute person said, shaking the bag as if luring a skittish puppy. “From Spider-man.”

 

The cute delivery person gave him an encouraging pat on the arm before disappearing back down the street. Wade opened the bag and immediately knew

what would be in the two neatly-wrapped packages when the delicious smell hit his nostrils.

 

“Banh mi!” he whispered to the packages. Peter had sent him banh mi. With a cute delivery person. And he’d known Wade was in this alley because he was tracking

him using science.

 

What with the burning, the unbearable horniness, and all of the feels that came with his and Peter’s special sandwiches, Wade was having a very hard time not sitting down and sobbing. He decided it was time to abandon Crotch Fern and continue his patrol from the roof-tops.

 

As he munched his yummy yummy spicy pork on the very nice roof-top he’d found quite close by, Wade thought of the night Peter had told him that he loved him. They had been eating banh mi, and his sweet little spider had just word-vomited it rightout, bless him. They had abandoned their banh mi that night – Wade hoped that the sandwiches had found a good home. Perhaps some pigeons had indulged in a Vietnamese feast.

 

And then they had gone home and had sex and Peter had let Wade suck his dick and then Peter had fucked Wade and it was amazing and no no no, thinking of sex was a terrible idea, thinking of hot wonderful life-affirming I-love-you sex with Peter was a simply dreadful idea because he was already too aroused to live.

 

As he shoved the rest of the banh mi into his mouth, hoping that the serotonin release from eating them would quell his horniness even a little tiny bit, Wade’s phone dibbled. It was Peter.

 

“Did you get your lunch?” Peter asked in his I’m-Trying-Not-To-Sound-Concerned voice.

 

“Just finished,” Wade said, swallowing the last of the spicy pork. “It was super scrummy. Thank you.”

 

“I’m glad,” Peter said, and Wade imagined him looking all compassionately at him with his big, pretty brown eyes. “How are you feeling?”

 

Uh-oh. Here it was. “You know,” Wade replied.

 

“I don’t know,” Peter said, some of his stern Dom!voice creeping in. “I’m asking you. How are you feeling?”

 

His ability to lie to his Spidey only stretched so far. Wade tried very hard to muster a response, but he was still feeling very vulnerable from the banh mi and then there was the burning and the girthful ginger dildo that felt like a giant angry bee in his ass. He let out what sounded like a combination of a sigh and a honk.

 

“Poor baby,” Peter cooed, but Wade could hear a hint of triumphant smile as well. “Is that ginger still working on you? Even with your hella awesome healing factor?”

 

Wade growled into the phone, and Peter giggled. “Seriously, babe, are you okay?” he asked. “How bad is it?”

 

And he almost answered his beloved honestly, almost told him how devastatingly aroused he was, how desperately he needed Peter to fuck him, to suck all of his life force out through his cock and then fuck it all back into his ass, how his body felt like it was covered in lava. He really, really almost did.

 

But then he thought of an incident, not long ago, when Peter had let him web down his dick and not touch it for three whole days. Three whole days of no dick-touching with a huge dildo in his ass pushing at his On Switch the entire time. Yes, Wade had begged Peter to end his torture after one day, had nearly pulled rank on him and made him call it off early, and Peter was a stubborn-pants and had done it mostly to prove that he could, but – Wade had enjoyed it. He’d enjoyed watching Peter squirm and suffer, had enjoyed milking him dry without letting him come, and boy howdy had he enjoyed the sexing that happened at the end of the whole ordeal.

 

It was Game Day. Game Day was about discipline. It was also about being a princess, but – a Princess of Discipline.

 

“I’m good,” he said, bravely. “Really I am, Sugar.”

 

“Seriously?” Peter asked, and Wade could hear the frown in his voice. “You don’t have to be. I can come get you.”

 

“Aren’t you teaching?”

 

“Yeah, but – I can cancel class, family emergency.”

 

Wade told himself it was the evil ginger that made him sniffle a bit at Peter’s use of the word family. “I’m okay. I want to go until 2, like you said. Game Day.”

 

“Wade, please don’t be stubborn,” Peter scolded, and Wade got a sudden image of a pot wagging its finger at a kettle. “If it’s not fun anymore then we should stop, you could get hurt on patrol in that condition.”

 

“This was your idea, Sweet Cheeks,” Wade reminded, keeping his irritation in check. “I’m sorry if you thought your magical ginger would completely debilitate my bad ass, but I am handling it.”

 

That was a lie and Wade knew it and, judging by the long-suffering sigh, Peter knew it, too. “Fine,” he said, curtly. “See you at 2. But you’d better keep your phone on you, and you’d better answer me if I call or text you.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Wade said because goddamnit it was still Game Day and he still wanted his tiny, devious little love to be in charge.

 

The semi-fight (more like lively banter) with Spidey seemed to have made the burning more bearable. But, he was horrified to discover, it had also made him even. More. Aroused.

 

Wade dropped to all fours on the rooftop, the rough concrete scratching his hands and providing an eensy-weensy bit of relief. Perhaps if he found an object to focus on, a completely unsexy object upon which he could meditate, just until his entire pelvis didn’t feel like it was going to combust.

 

He scanned the rooftop – chimney! Chimneys weren’t sexy. He gazed at the chimney, letting his eyes haze over with soft focus like he’d learned from the Yoga Lady on TV. However, this had the effect of blurring the sharp edges of the chimney, making it look like – a dick. A giant, metal dick.

 

Wade would not hump a chimney on a rooftop in the middle of Queens. He would not. He’d done worse, more humiliating things in public, yes, many times, but not this, not today. He scanned the horizon – billboards! He’d find a nice opulent advertisement to look at – capitalism wasn’t sexy.

 

But it seemed some amoral trickster god had planted all of the billboards in his proximity specifically to fuck with him: some kind of fiery cheese snack ad that was covered in red flames that made his body burn just from looking at it, an ad for beer that had a lady in a swimsuit lying provocatively on her front with her ass perfectly positioned to look exactly like Peter’s oh so very exquisite ass in his spandex suit that Wade loved so well, an ad for an ambulance-chasing law firm but the bald heads of the two creepily-smiling white guys that adorned it looked just like two massive billboard-sized dicks.

 

Everywhere, everything, all around him – sex and Peter and dicks and burning.

 

Wade closed his eyes. He rocked back and forth on his hands and knees, and the motion both rubbed his poor engorged cock against his suit and wiggled the giant ginger plug in his poor inflamed asshole. It hurt, it burned terribly, but it also felt incredibly amazingly good. He needed it so badly, any kind of contact, any kind of friction –

 

He thought of Peter touching him. Peter’s fingers grazing his spine, running a line down his back, grazing the ginger plug that tortured him. Peter’s face close to his, Peter’s lips kissing his temple, his ear, as Peter’s fingers tugged at the ginger, pressing it into him, fucking it ever so slightly in and out of him, Peter’s voice telling what a good boy he was, that it was almost over, to just relax and let him take care of him...

 

He was not going to get himself off. On a rooftop. On his hands and knees. On Game Day. This orgasm that was building inside of him belonged to Doctor Peter Parker – it was his responsibility, and he was going to be the one to take care of it. Wade could hold out.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, rocking ever so slightly, telling himself this was all he needed, just this little bit of relief. If he could just hang out here until 2pm, he would be fine. Sure, he wasn’t technically patrolling, but that wasn’t the point, right? If he could just stay here, unbothered…

 

“Hey, in-law!”

 

No.

 

Wade cracked open his eyes to see a large boulder with arms and legs waving at him from a flying car-helicopter-hybrid. He opened his eyes a little more to see – yup, Mr. Fantastic, The Invisible Woman, and the Human Douche all in the vehicle as well.

 

It was like Fred and George and Ron rescuing Harry from the Dursleys in their flying Ford Anglia, but like the nightmare version of that scene where Harry was Wade and the Weasleys were the Fantastic Four and Wade’s body was covered in fire and he was on all fours trying not to hump the air.

 

“I know we’re not really in-laws, but it kinda feels like we are, huh?” Ben Grim laughed in his gravelly voice. “Cuzza Spidey ‘n all.”

 

“Haha, yeah,” Wade said, weakly, pushing himself to his feet. He secretly thought The Thing was really really really cool and wanted him to like him. Wade hated everything.

 

“Are you, uh,” Sue Storm asked, taking in his position, “doing some -- yoga?”

 

“Yes!” Wade replied a little too enthusiastically as he worked his way to his feet, strategically turning his front away from the helicopter-car and wishing he hadn’t abandoned Crotch Fern. “Yes, just taking a yoga break.”

 

“There’s some excitement a few blocks away,” said Reed Richards, who always managed to sound like he was in a 1950s public safety film. “Want to come?”

 

“Sure,” Wade heard himself say, because at this point a distractingly awkward encounter with his kind-of-in-laws sounded much better than being alone on a roof-top trying not to think about his burning body. “What kind of excitement are we talking?”

 

“Some kinda cult or somethin’,” Ben said as he yoinked Wade into the vehicle. “Buncha jerks with flame-throwers.”

 

Wade made a sound that he hoped passed for a polite reply as he folded his hands over his painful boner.

 

“Are you okay, man?” Johnny Storm asked quietly enough that only Wade could hear him.

 

Wade nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The helicopter-car was a remarkably smooth ride, but the air washing over him as they sped towards mid-town seemed to be feeding the invisible flames that covered his skin.

 

“Did Peter do something to you?” he asked, leaning in from the seat next to Wade. “I know what a little shit he can be, if you need to talk.”

 

Wade had never liked Johnny very much, disliked him in fact, but he suddenly realized that Johnny thought they were bros. It was relatively endearing. He patted his knee and tried to nod in a grateful, significant way, and judging by the way Johnny patted him bracingly on the back, he took it as a gesture that their great bro-ship was reaffirmed.

 

The flame-throwing cult was the sort of situation that would have made Wade squee with delight on any other day -- very few innocents in danger, lots of property damage, lots of people enthusiastically shouting apocalyptic prophecies, and fire.

 

But today, he could have done without the fucking fire.

 

Wade tried looking up instead of at the flame-wielding cult members as he incapacitated them as quickly as possible, which led him to see another sight that usually brought him joy: Iron Man zooming around all in a tizzy.

 

“Where is your husband?” Tony demanded irately as soon as he saw him.

 

“He’s at work!” Wade shot back with a barely-contained sob. Tony actually looked like he was going to come over to Wade, possibly to ask him if he was okay, but the cultists he was holding aloft started writhing and Tony quickly flew them to the nearest squad car.

 

Moments later, the cultists – who were sadly underprepared, obviously assuming that their flame-throwers would make up for their lack of skill or planning – were all rounded up, and Tony was sending away the firefighting bots he’d summoned. The fires were out, the baddies were put away, and Ben Grimm and Reed Richards were making short work of cleaning up the mess. The ground was covered in lovely, shimmering puddles from the firefighting bots that had quickly doused everything in cool, clean water.

 

Everything except for Wade.

 

Wade was shocked he had managed to be as helpful as he had been, because while to an outsider it may have looked like he’d been ricocheting around the block taking out cultists, he had in fact been desperately trying to get sprayed by a water bot. And he’d had no luck. No luck at all. The fires may have been extinguished, but the burning in his no-no places was going strong.

 

And all that adrenaline had had a distinct effect on his libido.

 

As a result, he was kind of paralyzed. He thought about moving, but all he could seem to do was sit on the corner, next to a fire hydrant (which had stopped gushing the moment before he’d thrown himself in front of it), staring at his own sad reflection in a puddle. The concrete curb pressed the ginger impossibly further into his ass, reaching flesh that had not yet been seared by its evil juices. But he was beyond reacting.

 

Wade imagined a glass, a carafe, a pitcher filled with water. With ice. With ice and water. With ice and water and strawberries and perfectly round slices of lemon. He imagined it sitting, alone, on a cool marble table. With no one to drink it.

 

He would have wept, but there were no tears in him. The gingery fire had burned them away.

 

Within his field of vision was a clock outside of a slightly-charred bank. It was 1:30. He could finally go home and Peter would make him better, give him what he needed, but he couldn’t move. He’d been so stubborn, so willful, that now he couldn’t even complete his final game day instructions. He would die here, on this curb, unable to even tell his concerned fellow heroes what was happening to him. He would just shrivel up like a salted slug, a salted slug with the most painful hard-on ever in the history of hard-ons.

 

 “Well hello, Deadpool.”

 

Wade was nearly afraid to turn around, just in case hearing the most beautiful voice in the world was an auditory hallucination, but no – when he turned he saw that the voice had come from the most beautiful person in the world, standing over him majestically in all his blue-and-red glory.

 

“You look like you need to – cool off.”

 

He could hear the smile in his beloved’s voice, and part of him yearned to come back with a snappy retort, but that was only a very small part. “Spider-man!” he heard himself gasp as he was swept up into astoundingly strong arms.

 

“Take him home!” Tony called from across the street. “He basically took out a whole cult by himself and he’s being weird!”

 

“And be nice to him!” Johnny Storm yelled from where he and Sue were welding a fire escape back together.

 

“Whad’ya say, baby?” Peter asked, nuzzling noses with him through their masks. “Can I take you home and be nice to you?”

 

Wade was grateful that Spidey swooped off fast enough that the FF and Tony and all of the firefighters and cops in Queens didn’t hear him start sobbing brokenly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have pulled the smex and comfort into its own chapter ENJOY.

Wade was relieved to realize that they were taking the fastest overland route home, even by-passing their usual clothes-changing spot.

“A whole cult all by yourself?” Spidey praised as he swung them from roof to roof. “You must really have been on fire for justice today.”

 

Wade didn’t even have the energy to groan, just clung to the tiny, might body, even as Peter added, “Seems you were burning to protect the innocent.”

 

Wade tried to keep a tally of the awful puns, knowing Peter would be disappointed later if Wade didn’t have an accurate count (because puns were Peter’s third favorite way to earn belt spankings) but Wade’s poor brain was fuzzy with need, so he just decided to assume it was fifteen, fifteen puns sounded like a good average.

 

Spidey set them down on their windowsill what seemed like seconds later. Wade knew he had probably been happier to see their little place before, but he could not remember that. He was putty in Peter’s arms as he pulled them both through the window and into their living room, as he carried Wade to the bathroom and set him on their sink so that he could start the bath, as Peter quickly but gently removed his Deadpool skin. He leaned against Spidey’s shoulder, weak as a kitten, as Peter lowered him into the soothing, lavender-scented water.

 

“My poor guy,” Peter murmured as he rubbed their softest washcloth over Wade’s nipples, “I don’t think ginger even affects other people’s nipples. That’s just a you thing.”

 

Wade moaned as the burning finally, miraculously disappeared from his nips, then from his crotch, then from his ass as Spidey carefully reached beneath him and removed the horrible ginger, replacing it with slippery, soapy fingers.

 

He was barely aware of Peter pulling him from the bath and drying him off, but now he found himself laid out on their cool, clean bed that smelled like the yummy dryer sheets that only Peter seemed to ever be able to find when they went to the store. Peter was standing over him, still in his Spidey suit except for his mask and gloves. Wade wondered if that was on purpose because Peter knew what seeing him in his suit with no mask did to him or if Peter just hadn’t wanted to take the time to change because he was so focused on taking care of him.

 

“You followed instructions so hard today, huh?” Peter said with a sympathetic little laugh.

 

“ ‘m sorry,” Wade started to apologize for his stubbornness, for being angry with Peter earlier when this had been all his fault, but Peter shushed him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter corrected, kneeling over him. “I didn’t mean for this to get quite so intense. I just wanted to make a point.”

 

Wade laughed, weakly. Peter had made his point, and Wade would never, ever question him on matters of science again.

 

“And the point is not that I was right about your healing factor making ginger work like gang-busters,” he said as if reading Wade’s mind, and now his lips were on Wade’s chest. “The point is,” Peter continued, kissing slow circles around his poor nipples, “that you are very, very special.”

 

Wade felt his breath hitch in his throat as Peter’s sweet lips closed around one erect nub, his tongue swirling around it, his teeth grazing it ever so gently.

 

“Nobody else could get this keyed up from ginger juice, cutie,” Peter reassured as he moved gracefully down Wade’s body. “And you’d better believe nobody else could deal with it for this long and also rescue Queens from a fire cult. Just you.”

 

Peter licked a long, slow stripe down the seam of Wade’s thigh and groin, and Wade arched up into his touch. “Just my good boy,” Peter said before licking a matching stripe on the other side, “my special baby, my princess.”

 

Wade mewed and writhed as Peter laved his tongue and lips all over Wade’s balls which had until very recently felt covered in napalm. Peter held down his hips before taking Wade’s entire cock into his mouth at once. Wade tried to scream but all that came out was a strangled cry – it was too much, too much pleasure after so much torment.

 

Peter expertly brought him to climax in what felt like seconds, and in that moment, as his sweet Spidey was sucking all the life force from his body just as he’d fantasized earlier that day, Wade believed it had been worth it. He wanted to travel back into the very near past and tell himself, as he rocked on all fours on a rooftop looking at literal dick-heads on billboards, that it would be astronomically worth it.

 

Wade’s eyes fluttered open as he felt Peter traveling up his body, and he eagerly leaned up to kiss his sweetie, tasting himself in Peter’s mouth and instantly feeling arousal curl again in his center. “Turn over for me,” Peter instructed when they broke apart, his gorgeous eyes dark with Dom-space, making Wade squeal a bit as he quickly obeyed.

 

He knew Peter was going to eat him out, he had licked and kissed and sucked every other bit of skin that had been abused by the Demon Ginger, but he still sobbed with happiness when he felt his cheeks parted and a soft, velvety tongue barely touching him. He nearly tore one of their pillows in half as Peter moved from gently licking the puckered skin to outright fucking him with his tongue. Wade felt open and loose from having the thick plug in him for so long, helpless against the invasion.

 

When Peter was satisfied, he turned him gently back over, and Wade flopped like a rag-doll, muscles completely useless. Why did he need muscles when he had Peter to take care of him? He watched as his sweet angel reached up and removed their bed-side lube from their nightstand, then slathered enough of it (not too much) on his straining cock. He looked Wade in the eyes as he did so, biting his lip in that way Peter couldn’t seem to help doing when he was really very aroused indeed. Eep.

 

And then Peter maneuvered their bodies into position with a grace that came from much practice, and then, finally, he slid in to the hilt. Wade sighed and reached back to grip their bed frame, the feeling of being filled after needing it for so long nearly overwhelming him. Peter gripped his hips and started moving, slowly, sweetly, making it last, making Wade feel wanted and special and loved and precious.

 

But as Wade quickly realized, slow and sweet was not quite what he needed at the moment. He needed to be fucked, not like a princess but like a piece of meat.

 

And he communicated this need to his Spidey, loudly and wantonly, using a combination of the phrases “please” and “hard” and “I need it” and “Jesus Christ, Peter.” Peter laughed out loud at his enthusiasm and kissed him on the knee before swiftly flipping him back over, pulling his hips up roughly so that his ass was in the air and his chest pressed into bed, then brutally plowing back into him.

 

Wade tried to direct most of his screaming into the mattress.

 

It was an impressively long time before Peter pulled Wade’s hips against his and held him in place, pressing into him as he came, and Wade pushed back as much as he could. To his surprise, when Peter pulled out, he didn’t immediately kiss him on the back and head to the bathroom to get clean-up supplies but turned Wade back over and crawled up to straddle his hips.

 

“I think you get at least one more,” Peter mused as he opened their bedside lube again and squeezed a small amount onto his fingers, “for now.”

 

Wade’s heart thudded in his throat as he watched Peter reach back and slip his lubed fingers into himself, his pretty mouth opening to gasp at the sensation. He was putting on a little show. Wade was, as the young people say, here for it. Summoning all of his remaining strength, he placed his hands on either of side of his sweetheart’s slender waist as Peter slid, agonizingly slowly, onto his cock.

 

And then Peter rode him, that beautiful body that could bend and twist in all manner of exciting ways wrapped around him, all for him, all for Wade. Peter kept a hand on his chest, pressing into him as he came closer, as he always did when they made love this way. Wade didn’t move, resisted the urge to fuck up into that sweet tightness, just let Peter take him there. And though it wasn’t quite as momentous as that first post-ginger orgasm, he still saw stars.

 

*~*~*

“How are you, babe?”

 

Wade sighed. They were on the couch, surrounded by their dinner – stove-top-popped popcorn covered in truffle oil and a gigantic, heart-shaped box of chocolates (because while Valentine’s Day was definitely stupid, Peter had not been able to resist half-priced candy). They were watching their favorite video of a train ride across Europe, and their sourdough – which Peter had come home early to tend before rescuing Wade – was rising happily in its basket and tomorrow would turn into delicious bread. Wade’s skin didn’t burn, and he was thoroughly fucked. He communicated his feeling of bliss in a short series of nonverbal sounds.

 

“Hooray,” Peter said, laughing contentedly. “I was afraid the playlist might have been too far to come back from.”

 

Oh, the playlist. Vague irritation swirled in Wade’s insides, but now it was the pleasant kind that would fuel kinky escapades in the near future. And anyway, it had been nice to see Clint for a moment when he’d been in such discomfort.  

 

“Everybody was really nice to me today,” Wade said, almost without meaning to.

 

“Good,” Peter said, feeding him a hazelnut crème, “everybody should be nice to you. All the time.”

 

Wade said nothing but ate his chocolate, obediently. Peter liked for him to think nice things about himself on Game Days, and he found he was kind of – proud of himself. And it had been sort of pleasantly different for their friends to be so concerned about him, and it had been nice, he realized suddenly, to have been so overcome with burning and horniness that he couldn’t deflect their concern with bravado.

 

He looked at his precious Spidey, who was watching raptly as the train rounded a bend onto a snowy mountain top. Dr. Peter Parker was a smart fella, and not just about ginger.

 

“Ooh!” Peter abruptly squeaked around a caramel cream. “How many puns did I get to?”

 

“I decided on fifteen,” Wade shared as he deftly avoided a coconut chocolate.

 

“I thought it was only, like, four,” Peter clapped his hands, pleased with himself. “Well – do you want to get in some payback before we totally slip into sugar comas?”

 

Peter had a look of polite interest, no pressure, as he fed Wade another chocolate, his fingers lightly grazing his lips. It wouldn’t be unusual for them to switch dynamics so quickly, and Wade was definitely looking forward to laying some stripes on that gorgeous, oh-so-willing ass.

 

He snuggled up against Spidey as he ate his chocolate, nestling his head against Peter’s shoulder. Peter wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close, placing a kiss on his temple, then one full on his lips. He understood, because of course he did. Wade fell asleep, tucked safely in the strong arms of his beloved, watching snowy mountains pass by on the screen and feeling very distinctly princess-like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to Persephoniac for coming up with all of this and letting me write it and I'm so sorry it took forever!!! And THANK YOU to 2SidedAuthor for requesting Peter's revenge edge play!!!
> 
> Next up: adorable age-play, Dr. Deadpool, fun with sounding, vampire gloves, and so much more!
> 
> Got an idea/request? Tumble me: crockzilla.tumblr.com


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